


The Odor Of My Affection

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform, Series: Werecat Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love can have an odd way of showing itself. And this way is really wierd. Luckily, Jim has Simon to talk it over with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Odor Of My Affection

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little snip from a story touched on in the Moodring series. It occurs before that series, but after Simon becomes a were cat.

## The Odor Of My Affection

by Fire Frog

Author's webpage: <http://www.wn.com.au/firefrog/senwarn.htm>

Author's disclaimer: Thank you to Kelly, Beta reader supream!

* * *

The Odor Of My Affection. 

By Fire Frog. 

As Jim moved about the room, tidying up the cushions, straightening the rug, he passed through a sudden warm patch of air. 

/Damn, he's done it again. / He thought, glaring at the doors to his partners bedroom, whence the little fink had just withdrawn, having left Jim a parting gift. Well, what the hell. Blair wasn't around to see it, he reasoned. He inhaled deeply. Held it a beat. Mmmm. Nice. 

Blair Sandburg did the cutest bottemburps in the world. Jim enjoyed them, in a clandestine -"Sandburg, did you drop your guts again?" sniff, sniff, sniff - kinda way. 

Well, it wasn't like he could go "Hmm, nice one babe, do another." For one thing, he wasn't really sure of Blair's reaction to being called 'babe'. 

At times Jim was horrified with himself for this little...whatever it was of his. Liking another man's farts, for god's sake. But, they were Blair's, and they were cute. He knew how Blair would react to cute... 

Other people's lunch bombs could have him reaching for the gas mask, or a bucket. He was a Sentinel - he could detect the gasses that most folk couldn't. Lucky him. And with only one exception, human bodily emissions stank. 

Except Blair's. His were nice. Jim could imagine what it would be like, lying in on a winters morning, capturing a Blair fart underneath the covers. Jim could get...quite sentimental, with an image like that. 

They had already shared tent farts. And ones in the car on long stakeouts. Blair said the tolerance of another's effluent and the expectance that they will tolerate yours was a sign of true friendship. Of course, he had just dropped one even Jim couldn't handle at the time. Some frantic window winding had been going on, and it had been snowing outside. Blairs final "Love me, love my farts." had gained him a murderous look, at the time. But the truth was...that was the truth. 

===+++=== 

"I don't mind Blairs farts." He'd told Simon the night before. "I kind of like them." 

He'd muttered this gem in reply to Simon's pointed question, - "What in the hell makes you think you're in love with Blair?" 

Simon had barked that line in astonishment when Jim had unthinkingly blurted out "You think that's hard? You should try being in love with him." 

The entire conversation started because of another odor. The scent of death. 

A good officer had died that day, the innermost secrets of his body strewn across the sidewalk. Blair had been there, Simon had called him in. It was Sandburg's observations that wrapped the case, eventually. But in the firefight that followed, a bullet had grazed his hip, so he was at home, tucked up with some pain meds while the rest of Cascade's Finest drank to the afterlife of the officer who hadn't been so 'lucky'. 

Simon felt the burden of guilt, for both the officer's death, and Blair's injury. He'd confessed to Jim, over more than a few beers, that it was getting harder to send the young anthropologist out into the field. He'd started to feel like Little Red Ridinghood's mom, sending the kid into the woods, knowing there was a wolf out there, but needing to get food and medicine to granny anyway. 

The way he said it was whimsical, picturesque, with a touch of humor to cover up the darker secret that he was in deadly earnest. He was honestly afraid that one day he would send them out on an assignment that got Blair killed. He found it hard to get perspective; on the one hand, Blair was an incredible asset to the team, on the other, he was an unarmed civilian for whom he felt a protective respect and love. 

That was when Jim confessed that he was in love. Then the whole issue of cute farts, and later, being as he was very drunk indeed, curly hair that he kept visualizing running his hands through, and twinkling blue eyes that he just wanted to drown in, had come up. Jim took awhile to reach the sappy stage of drunkenness. But when he did, he went all out. If there had been a piano bar close by, he'd have dragged Simon into it and demanded they played love tunes until dawn. 

Even this inebriated, though, he understood Simon's fear, it was after all Jim that Blair followed into danger. Jim led, and Simon pointed the way. God, but they took some chances. 

Right now Jim's jeans had several drops of Blair's blood on them, from helping him hobble to safety behind a Dumpster. The sickening smell of it was driving him insane. The coppery tang stank at the back of his mouth, reminding him that here was another time his guide had walked the line. Just as every officer did. But Blair got no recognition, no pay, no life insurance. How could they keep doing this to the kid? 

Yet, Jim needed Blair. As did Simon. Without him, nights like to night, where they drank to the memory of dead officers, and civilians, would increase again. Being the Sentinel was a personal burden, but there was no denying, he saved lives. And he couldn't do that, be that, without his guide. Just as Simon couldn't be the police captain he was, handle the pressure of being human and were cat, without Blair's help either. 

They both remembered the precinct pre Sentinel abilities, pre Blair. There had been many nights like this one. Nights when the actions of one incredibly sense heightened man would have made a difference with who lived, and who did not. They couldn't afford to push their young guide away, with either over protectiveness, or unwanted proclamations of love. Cascade needed him. Needed them. 

"He's our guide, our...shaman, our..." Simon waved a beer in the air, trying to conjure up a proper description of what Blair was to him. 

"A 'loved 'tector." Jim slurred, finishing his beer and signaling for another. 

"S'at Latin?" asked Simon, but continued on without waiting for an answer, "Loved tector! He's all alone, Jim, and we gotta look after 'im." 

Agreeing, they made a pact, Simon and Jim. The highly inebriated Major Crimes boss and his best detective. For Cascade, their city. They would henceforth look over each other. Watch for signs of over familiarity, and warn each other. Help keep each others perspectives straight, so to speak. Help keep the burden of their unasked for regard away from one Blair Sandburg. 

===+++=== 

And it was a good pact, Jim thought, as he bundled the newspaper into the trashcan. Because Blair was an open guy. But anyone would freak a little if they found out one friend wanted to lock him permanently in the filing room, to keep him safe. And the other, his roommate, was secretly in love with his farts. No, it was best this way. Best... 

Oh My. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
